Snapshots: Photos by Peter Parker
by KayMoon24
Summary: Stories of the relationships, experiences, and daily things in the life of Peter Parker, and the people around him, all marked by certain photographs. Contains before, and after where "The Amazing Spider-Man" leaves off. Plus some extra nerdy goodies. I hear J.J.J., anyone? Please enjoy!


**Snapshots: Experiences of People, Places and Things- Photos By Peter Parker**

_**AN: **_I adore Spider-Man. I just. I can't even. So please enjoy my little snippets into the relationships, experiences, romance, and daily life of Peter Parker/Spider-Man. C: Amazing Spider-Man verse. *****fixed 9/27 for word placing and the such. Thanks for the notification, guys!

**Summary: **I love how Flash's character changes during the film. Including his relationship to our beloved Web-Head. How about a follow-up?

* * *

_Flashback:_

It had all happened so fast that day—everything was either too quick or too slow. A wet blur of faces and kids and teachers but Peter couldn't see anyone. But he did hear. He could hear the whispers of so many voices, young, old, cracking, and the works—and how it just ate him upside. So many voice around him, and yet Peter couldn't bear to listen to a single word over the screaming that was going on inside of him.

_Uncle Ben._

_Uncle Ben was dead._

_Because of him._

"Parker."

_Your fault_, the voice screamed.

Peter continued to go through the motions of using his locker without really registering anything to the touch.

_Your fault._

"Hey, Parker." Peter's eyes narrowed as something dark and heavy suddenly moved through his chest.

_Your fault!_

Flash. Flash was calling him. His knuckles tightened over the strap to his bookbag_._

_Your—_

the scream suddenly became a new word:

_Flash._

Peter tried to fight it.

Not today. Not today.

"Not today Flash," Peter breathed out, completely monotone, trying not to growl, not to scream, Jesus, not to cry. But his response seemed to be muffled by the inside of his locker, because soon he felt a hand graze his jacket.

"Hey, come on, I just want to talk—" Flash started, but Peter couldn't bring himself to hear, to think, to see, or dare breathe beyond the screaming in his mind, the pain, the _agony_. He felt like a cornered animal—by Flash, no less—and 'just want to talk'? When did_ Flash_ ever care? When did _anyone_ ever _care? _As far as Peter could tell, Flash was already on him, but Peter was more than ready—he instantly grabbed Flash by the collar of his jacket, smashing him as hard as he could against the cold metal doors.

Flash looked just as stunned as Peter felt. But Peter couldn't stop himself. The screaming inside stopped.

"That—that feels better now, right?" Flash had told him, his grey eyes distant. "Now that your uncle's gone?"

_Your fault, _the voice whispered.

Peter let go just as quickly, disappearing into the fall filled empty faces and the myriad voices of ghosts.

* * *

_Present Day:_

"Parker!"

The grim scene of a New York afternoon rush greeted Peter's shoes as he effortlessly maneuvered around hundreds of pairs of legs, bags, baby-strollers, and blinking, ever-changing traffic lights. He pulled his black backpack tighter around his shoulder blade, his heart-rate spiking. The ebb of a bruise on his chest from a car-hustler late that night—or man, should he consider it morning?—continued to let its presence be known with each slight bump to his body. But this time he wasn't out running any vicious, ridiculous lizard or the occasional coked-out drug addict that he'd managed to piss off. Nope. Not this time.

"Hey—_Watch it_, I'm walkin' 'ere! PARKER!"

_Keep your head low. Don't look around. Don't acknowledge him. You're nearly at the traffic stop, _Peter told himself, narrowly missing the swing of someone's suitcase hitting a particularly tender spot near his upper thigh. He took a deep breath, willing the light to change. Didn't this city care at all? He was avoiding fate here! _Come on, come on, walk sign, walk sign, walk sign—shit!_

_Yeah, that's right. Trip._

The stumble out into the traffic was caused by the sudden urgent grip of a hand on his right shoulder, which then pulled him right back into the now emptying side walk.

_Great job for New York's Super-Hero._

"Yo man, you hear me? I've been yellin' for like half a block." The barely breaking a sweat, flushed face of Flash Thompson startled Peter into taking yet another advancing step into traffic. It was still better than having to deal with Flash.

Peter rolled his shoulder, managing to produce the slender, black cord from his headphones. He pointed slightly to his left ear. "Ah, sorry, Flash—Music. You know."

"Yeah," The taller teenager nodded the greyish blue in his eyes reflecting the open, winding sky above them, dotted with the refractions of multiple skyscrapers. Peter still couldn't help it. It was just unreal. Here was Flash, tagging along after him _without_the intent to humiliate. He stood a little too close, something Peter had noticed over the years of listening to the "Bros, Dudes, and Fags" of yesteryears gym change out and locker hassle. Some jocks just really didn't understand personal space.

But then again, Peter figured Flash didn't understand much of anything.

Flash managed a quick smile before it disappeared into that same pre-determined look of negligence. His leather jacket had its zipper pulled down to revel the familiar red and blue of a fabric Peter may have had stashed in the bag hanging precariously through his fingers. He still couldn't resist his own little mocking jeer every time he saw Flash practically on his knees worshipping the Web-Head. He swore himself that if he ducked his head at just the right angle, he could sneak a look at the inside of Flash's locker—and that beyond the horribly rendered pictures of scandalously clad Victoria Secret Models; he caught the scarlet of a certain eight-legged icon. Peter had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from snickering to himself more than usual as he skated through the halls.

The irony damn near led him to hysterics.

Flash's catching energy seemed to finally hit its mark, as the silvery-blond of his practically shaved head bounced a little as he moved from foot to foot, patting self-consciously at his dark jeans pockets.

"H—" Peter began, but Flash's booming voice quickly intercepted like his own winning defense last month over the "Brooklyn Bears".

"So, I wanted to ask you somethin'. Is that okay?"

_Is that okay?_ Peter snickered to himself. _You dropping me on my ass for four years, yeah, that was just peachy. But asking me a question right here, right now? Sure, why the hell not. I was only planning out walking into traffic afterwards. Is that okay?_

"Uh, sure Flash," Peter set his lips into a thin line.

"Awesome!" Flash resounded, reaching out a strong hand and slapping Peter in the square of his back in a friendly way to get the pair walking at the same pace. Sadly for Peter, 'friendly' also happened to coincide with 'ohgodwhy_pain_' as that was also exactly where he landed when he was thrown from a window. Twice.

It was a long night.

"So…you think you could maybe show me how you did that grind sometime?"

Peter could only stare at him, bewildered, from the corner of his eye. "My—my what?"

"Dude, your board," Flash used that same hand that had oh-so-nicely-smacked Peter on the back with before, and used it to now flick the dirt-speckled wheel of Peter's lovingly worn skateboard, as if that would make his point more clear to where it was in existence to Peter's memory. "Your moves are sick. I'd be so syked if you could show me how you do them."

"Oh." Peter blinked, and then his lip began to twitch itself involuntarily into a smile at the image of Flash Thompson busting his butt on the wet Mid-Town pipes and stairwells.

Abruptly, the military like pound of two pairs of footsteps become one once more. Flash had stopped moving. Peter quickly glanced back trying to keep his stare from looking too nervous.

"You don't have time, do you." Flash's voice seemed to drop a few decibels, his question much more a statement than not.

"No—Nah, Flash. Just, isn't it about to rain?" Peter trained his eyes to the darkening sky, the mistiness that seemed to fill his mouth with the taste of New York City levels of lovely grime, mixed dirt, light sweat, and bitter dampness.

"Scared of a little water, Parker?" Flash's brow rose, nearly translucent above his eye.

"I'm only thinking about you in this. First timers always fall—and that's just on dry concrete."

Flash seemed to consider this for a second, his brows furrowing, and his jaw tightening. He flexed his fingers once more before he asked: "You skate in the rain?"

"I skate everywhere. It's sort'va how I get around." Peter partially lied, wondering that if he starting running now, he could probably get a decent head start. He read somewhere in an article that positive thinking was the answer to getting what you wanted. Maybe he could just…will Flash away….

"So then it's settled. You don't mind showing me some moves? I'll buy us a soda or something." Flash began, only for his eyes to widen slightly, and he quickly added: "if you want, that is."

_'If you want, that is'_, Peter remarked to himself, _well, well, well, he's like some kind of big, slightly mentally challenged golden retriever puppy with personal courtesy pronouns. Nice job with the 'acting like a reasonable human being' training, Gwen.  
_  
"Soda?" Peter asked in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Well, I only have two bucks on me, so yeah, I was thinkin' soda." Flash continued as if the causal gesture of sharing drinks was something they had always done. Peter briefly wondered if Flash would take offence if he decided to check his own can's pH acidic levels first. Could he really pass up such an opportunity? His mind turned suddenly over to the day after Uncle Ben's death…when he had been so angry, so destitute…and how he had nearly ripped Flash apart as he threw him against the locker…all gloves off, ready to see_ blood_…and how Flash had just looked at him, his grey eyes open and…somehow grieving as well…the queasy startings of guilt made Peter finally chose his answer.

"Alright Flash, you're on." Peter decided, "Let's go past the subway to the undergrounds."

"The undergrounds?" Flash jogged back up beside him, suddenly bright.

Peter waved his hand absentmindedly. "It's just what I call it. But it has the nice rails, it's like a sustainable boarding dock."

"Cool," Flash said, producing a brief smile.

* * *

"You gonna start showing me your tricks, or what?" Flash called, tossing a soda can over to the seated brunet.

Peter caught it easily, without even looking up from his backpack, to Flash's surprise and dismay.

"I could, but then I'd be what some people might call a 'show-off'." _Not that Flash'd understand _anything_ about that. _"Why don't you actually try, oh, I don't know, standing on it first?"

"Fair enough," Flashgripped up the board and set it to the ground. When he took his first step onto it, Peter was suddenly very aware of him._  
_  
"Alright, annnnnnnndd—there!" Peter quickly snapped a photo of Flash's first attempt on a skateboard. Needless to say, it looked pretty ridiculous. Definitely something he'd have to hang up at home, maybe in a nice frame of some sort. It was Flash, leaning much too far back over the nose of the board, throwing his hands out just in time to stop his face from having its first intimate kiss with the gravely cement.

It was just _perfect.  
_  
Even from where he lay, sprawled out on his belly; Flash lifted a palm to give Peter a not so welcoming sign of his middle finger.

"Oh don't sweat it," Peter laughed quietly from his seat on the slick stairs, just outside a padlocked door that lead into the holding cargo chambers. "I fall pretty much every day, it just happens."

_Even to the most tactile, agile teenager on the planet_, Peter begrudged to himself.

Flash still sent him a passive glare. "Yeah, but you've always been a spazz, Parker."

"And you're just full of grace, Flash," Parker remarked with a small smirk of his own, clicking back over his camera to re-view the previously taken picture.

"Hey! You better delete that dip- shit-shot, okay?" Flash lashed out, skidding his knee along the side of a wall as he wobbled precariously over the middle of the board.

"Alright, fine," Peter shrugged, pretending to delete the shot. "By the by, first tip? It's all in your knees. Bend your knees, and you'll center your balance."

Flash pushed off from the wall, rolling steadily back in Peter's direction, slowly bending as he was told. "Like…like this?"

"Yeah, that's it. And if you put your heel of your foot down, so it'll hover on the ground, you can make a smooth stop."

"That's kids' stuff though,. How do you make a quick stop?"

Peter considered this for a moment, wondering if he should actually tell Flash the right directions to stop, or let him run into a few more graffiti'd walls.

"I'm telling you man, it's not for beginners."

"Shove it Parker, I can—oofm!" Flash began with a roll of his eyes, and then ended just as quickly, as he slid his back foot past the tail of the board, and pulled all of his weight over the side, tumbling backwards and on his back, hitting the pavement with an audible gasp. Peter recollected those good ol' days of learning the hard way himself. And of all the times Flash ever punched his own body into such a position. Slowly, Peter lifted himself up, and jogged to Flash's location, reaching out a hand.

"Told ya," Peter said, helping Flash up, to which Flash just pulled away half-heartedly.

"Piss off, Parker."

"Hey, look'it you! Alliteration! Gwen would be proud." Peter grinned into the insult.

"What? Alliteration?" Flash's brows curled, genuinely confused.

"It's…um," Parker floundered to explain. "Alliteration is the repetition of a particular sound in the first syllables that you'd use in a sentence."

Flash took his head. "Gwen is hot, but man, you both are such dorks, I swear to God."

Peter felt the tips of his ears go pink at the mention of Gwen's looks from Flash's ape mouth. He quickly wiggled his fingers, keeping in control the sudden urge he had to punch Flash Thompson than he ever had over the past four years.

"Look Flash," Peter finally leveled. "Are you here to just insult me? Because, honestly, I can go to better places for that kind of thing. It's not exactly like we've ever hung out. And you're losing your edge. My Aunt May chides me better."

Flash's snorted through his nostrils before responding roughly with a: "I know I'm not good at this, alright?"

Peter titled his head, noticing the hard edges of Flash's face hallowing again. He decided to take a calmer approach. "At skating? It just takes time."

Flash snorted again, before spiting onto the ground. "Sure. Time."

A short silence passed between the two boys, the echoing rolling of wheels becoming the only sound to breach the air. After rolling back and forth a few more times, Flash slid to a stop the beginner's way. Peter turned briefly to look at him, as he was distracted with other thoughts, mindlessly slipping his soda. Flash covered the distance, heading towards a heavy pole.

"Hey, Parker. I uh, I also…..ah," Flash's usual cool snide twisted itself into a strangely open expression. _Oh ho? What is this? Is Flash…using his brain? And all the times of me to have my camera. Ah, National Geographic will be delighted!_

"Heh," Flash chuckled, ducked his head and leaning against the cement pole, locking an arm around it for support. "Sorry, I know this sounds stupid, to, you know, suddenly ask to uh, hang out." He paused for a moment, making sure Peter's eyes weren't judging. Thankfully, Peter managed to rearrange his face into something of curiosity, nearly being caught in the act of wearing whatever emotion he wanted on his face. Masks make you kind of forget how to appear normal to…well…normal people.

"What's up?" Peter asked, his eyes focused on a building in the distance as if he hadn't seen it a million times before.

"I just wanted to say that, I—I get it. You know?" Flash's voice sounded slightly hoarse.

"You get it?" Peter blinked.

"I—like, understand." Flash tossed his head, his shoulders squaring back. Peter's eyes carefully studied Flash's movements. He had seen wild animals agitated before. And besides, he had been shoved into so many closed locker doors by the guy, it didn't take much of his physicality to put Peter right back on edge. He felt stupid, getting so anxious, because like hell he'd ever let Flash get away with anything like that again, but the feeling of uneasiness was still there all the same. It was like they were both suddenly standing, on some shiny, silver beam balance, and Peter was finally standing on top. But yet…Peter had to swallow a tiny lump in his throat when he thought of his Uncle's words.

He had always wondered what it'd be like to stand so much taller than Eugene Thompson. But yet…he didn't like the view it brought him one bit. Just like when he saw his own reflection in Flash's eyes that day at school, when he had slammed the football player against the locker. Peter certainly wasn't himself—so violent, so willing to hurt others…

Flash was still kicking at a loose pebble at the eroded, harsh ground beneath them, knocking the board back towards Peter, catching it at the toe of his shoe, causing Peter to intently jump back into conversation, slightly confused to how much time he gone by without him saying anything back. He wasn't that he didn't like to be social. But sometimes the whole charade of it left him more exhausted than if he decided to clean up all of The Bronx in one night. He liked it in his head—was it really that weird?

"You…understand?" Peter repeated, his eyebrows rising for good measure.

"My old man's in jail. He's been in jail my whole life," Flash slowly admitted, his stormy eyes glancing up towards the sky, and then to the puddle off in the distance. "And…God," Flash laughed again, lifting a hand to clasp it to his face, and then through the finely cropped hair along his head. "This is so stupid."

Peter twisted his board up and under his arm before causally loping over, hopping up onto a slick railing, too unsure to get close or not. "You're not stupid."

Flash's laughter disappeared into a distant rumble of thunder from a few blocks down.

"What?" Flash asked slowly, suddenly reluctant to face Peter.

Peter cleared his throat, wishing that it would spontaneously start to pour and he could ride away with a polite wave and a 'Maybe another time, man!'

"I said that you aren't stupid."

Peter quickly shoved away his skateboard as much as he wished he could shove away his words, Flash, the whole situation. It rolled until it was just a few feet away from Flash.

"Man…shut up." Flash's eyes steeled for a heart-beat, and he suddenly made for the skateboard in of him, attempting to steady himself to take a running leap at it.

"Hey, be careful. It's in your posture. Never your ankles." Peter corrected.

Flash quickly readjusted, hitting the board at a decent angle and maintaining his balance.

"Whoa," Flash added in his own gruff wonder. "That worked! That freakin' worked! Man, you're—" A slash of thunder shook the sky again, and Flash glanced up, only to be struck with the beginnings of a pair of huge rain drops.

"Yeah, well, it just takes, you know. Practice." Peter continued with a brief shrug.

"Yeah, I'm not very good at practicing for much of anything but sports." Flash grimaced briefly, his jaw lines tightening again. He took another pounce on the board, even managing to turn the wheels around so that he faced Parker once again. Carefully, Flash took measure of a building in the distance and cleared his throat.

"Hey, Parker, I just wanted to also say—" Flash cleared his throat again, his grey eyes hard.

Peter froze. _Oh God. What now? Flash was…actually going to say something meaningful? Oh man…I bet it's that he's secretly been in love with me all these years and expressed it by horrible acts of countless violence on my behalf. Geez…how do I begin? 'Sorry man, I uh…swing—but not _that_ way.'_

"You'll get the whole flip-turn eventually," Peter began, before Flash threw out the heel of his converse and came to a quick, slightly unbalanced stop.

"Wait," Flash sighed, his eyes keeping their sporadic tone, flickering every which way, as if they were being watched. "It's um, not about the board." Flash stopped, and measured Peter up as if he was the 50 yard thrown line with 10 seconds left to make the winning game. Before the brunet even knew it, Flash began talking without even the slightest hint of back-tracking.

"I just wanted to say before that…I'm sorry man. I—I mean…about your uncle. Because he was like your father, or whatever, right? So…I'm sorry." He flexed his hand again, bringing it up to pull at the collar of his jacket. "I've been such an ass-hole to you. All fuckin' year—man, and it's like, suddenly, I _get _it." He paused again, his breathing awkward. He quickly brought up the second hand now, and leaned into it, fingers curling to dig into his cheek. "Arh! I'm even fucking this apology up!"

Peter did his best to not let his mouth hang open.

"I…I understood. And you fuckin' know, man?" Flash continued a slight tremble in his voice as he shuffled his hands down, pulling them to his sides. "I hate it. The things it takes you finally understand why you're the scum of the earth? I get it. And I really just wanted to spit that out to you. Okay? So…I'm sorry Parker. I really am. I know why you hate me. I hate me too—I've—I've always hated me. So…the day I heard what had happened to your uncle." Flash sighed. "I just…I know what it's like to live without your father. It's what I was trying to tell you that day...that I get it. And I'm so sorry it had to happen to you too."

Peter swallowed drily, stunned in his tracks. It….was that an apology? Running it back through his head, he decided that he'd take it over a kick to the groin again any day.

"Flash." Their eyes met briefly, before the sky fully decided to unleash its endless waves of wind, ripples of water and pounding drops from its mouth. "I'm….I'm sorry too. I don't hate you, though."

"Don't be a pussy. Just spit it out, Parker. Say it."

"Well…alright," Peter began slowly. "I guess…if it's true, it's true, Thompson."

Flash didn't reply.

Peter cleared his throat as well. "I guess we really do have something in common. Because I hate myself too."

"What? Why?" Flash argued, suddenly turning, his face notably red against the paleness of his skin, the contrast of his hair. "Do you think it's _your_ fault your uncle's gone? Man, that's _stupid _as hell. Of course it's not your fault. It's not your fault as much as it is my own dad's in jail. It ain't nobody's fault."

"But you can't help it, am I right?" Peter asked the ground, his stomach dropping into a bottomless nothing within him.

A beat dropped between them.

"Yeah." Flash finally added, his voice for once, low and somber to the pole near him.

"Exactly." Peter added, pushing some of his soaked away from his face.

Flash quickly pinned the edge of Peter's board down with the toe of his shoe, grasping the opposite end as it reached up towards his hand. He pulled it up for a second, letting his fingers trail over the cracks and duct tape, seeming to feel the strain of it in his hands as he stared at it. Then, quick as it had never happened; Flash gave it a well measured toss towards Peter.

"Well, there goes learning to skate I guess, with this crap rain. Can't exactly shoot a web—how else can I pick up chicks?"

"Dunno," Peter responded in a mutter over the wind, rain already whipping through his hair.

"Whatever man, like _you'd _know," Flash took a light jab, but still, he raised his palm up into a single, motionless wave of goodbye. Peter tiled his head slightly, before slowly raising his own hand as well. Flash then quickly folded in his fingers and pointed his hand at Peter, in the well-known sign of the motion Peter himself had to go through to press down on his Web-shooters to release a web. Flash then turned on his heel, and began to leave.

Peter laughed quietly, watching Flash leave, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his head bowed down to the rain. He noticed that Flash's jacket was still open—and that he allowed the rain to splash down and damped every part of him, even trailing down his shoe laces, into his socks, the ends of his jeans cuffs— especially his Spider-Man T-shirt.

Peter continued to look out over the distance long after Flash had gone.

It was just so weird.

For the longest time, Peter had thought _he _was the only one that liked to feel the rain on every single inch of him.

* * *

**AN: **Thanks for reading! I adore Spider-Man so much, and have always been very scared to write anything even remotely relating to him, so thank you for sticking through it. c: more to come! Oh foreshadowing to the life of Flash..*sniffles* dat boy! ;-;


End file.
